Sick
by Thinker2010
Summary: PG for language in later chapters. Set day after Cotillion. Ryan's feeling sick, but it's nothing serious... right?
1. Fromeletaconoast

Author's Note: Okay all, this is my first story posted on Fanfiction.net, and also my first O.C. fic ever, so be nice! Heh JK, if it sucks REALLY bad I can take some constructive criticism (. In any case, this was just something I wrote on a whim one night, I've got other chapters in reserve, but I'll decide whether or not to post more by whether or not I receive any reviews. You don't HAVE to review, but it's always nice to know people are reading. Okay rambling now... here it is, hope you enjoy...  
  
Sick  
  
By: KTP  
  
Disclaimer: Sometimes I wonder whether I should bother writing these things... I almost feel like I'm degrading the almighty creators of The O.C. by even suggesting that they would take time out of their busy lives to read my work... but just in case, I own nothing. Hyuck hyuck hyuck.  
  
Ryan opened his eyes to find that daylight had crept through the blinds of the pool house, illuminating his room - which was spinning. Quickly shutting his eyes again, he shook his head. Dizzy. Why was he dizzy? He couldn't recall any recent head injuries acquired in fights... no, he'd given that up for the Cohens. He obviously hadn't been drinking; he'd seen what that could do to people. So what then? Opening his eyes again, he found that the shelves that stored the towels were not moving quite so fast, and in fact were slowing down until they came to a halt. Glancing around him once again, just to be sure it was over, Ryan sighed and again shook his head to clear it. He stood up slowly, and pulled on a white tee shirt and his black and gray hooded sweatshirt. Having slept with his jeans on, he didn't need to worry about that, and made for the door, which he stepped through into a brisk morning in the O.C.  
Strolling across the patio to the Cohen's back door, he entered the kitchen, where Seth was standing in front of the stove, which was letting off a light air of smoke.  
"What's going on?" Ryan inquired, abruptly enough to make Seth jump as he spun around to face his sort-of-brother.  
"Geez, man! Don't sneak up on a guy like that! Make me mess this thing up," he rebuked, turning back to what he was cooking on the stove. Ryan could now see that it was a smoky skillet.  
"What is in there, Seth?" Ryan asked, a slight air of exasperation in his voice.  
"This, my friend, is Fromeletaconoast," the dark haired teen announced proudly, leaving Ryan near speechless.  
"Um... g'bless you?" was the best thing he could come up with in response to Seth's inane babble. This drew a sigh of annoyance from said babbler, who turned around and offered an explanation. "Okay, it's like," Seth began, screwing up his face in thought as he tried to decide the best way to describe what he was cooking, "well, there's french toast, so I put the FR at the beginning, and the OAST at the end. Now, between the two slices of french toast is an omelet, complete with cheese, peppers, and bacon. I stuck the 'omelet' in right after the FR from the toast, and put the last four letters of 'bacon' right after the 'omelet' and right before the OAST. So, ya put em all together, and whaddya get?"  
Ryan stared at Seth, then looked at what was in the skillet.  
"Charcoal?"  
Seth spun around and with a squeal took the skillet off the stove, which was now smoking quite profusely and filling the kitchen with a cloud of eye watering haze. Setting the Fromeletaconoast aside, Seth switched on the fan above the stove, which began to clear out the smog permeating the room rather quickly.  
Ryan strode casually over to get a better look at Seth's creation, which now sat smoldering beside the kitchen sink. It actually wasn't entirely ruined, there was some visible color other than black; he could make out some yellow and green, which he guessed would be the eggs and onions. His stomach lurched slightly, but the feeling passed quickly and he didn't give it a second thought.  
Seth had noticed him 'admiring' the work at hand, and beamed.  
"Eat your heart out, Emeril," stated Seth proudly.  
"Bam," Ryan mumbled sarcastically, continuing to eye the black lump. "You don't like it?" asked Seth, sounding shocked.  
"No, no it's good... it's... Cajun omelet," Ryan said decisively. "Cajun Fromeletaconoast," corrected Seth, and both boys chuckled. Seth sighed with satisfaction.  
  
"Well, I guess we better get eating, then," he suggested, and, cutting the Fromeletaconoast down what was the closest he could get to the middle, put one half on each of two plates that he'd gotten out for Ryan and him.  
"Where are your parents, anyway?" Ryan inquired as he watched, hoping he might be able to call upon the aid of Mrs. Cohen to give him an excuse to fend otherwise for breakfast. He knew he could cook better than Seth, but he didn't want to hurt his feelings, which would be extra-sensitive for all the pride that had swelled them.  
  
"Dad took off with Mom for a day, to 'sort things out.' I'm guessing that'll be about the whole Cooper issue..." Seth cut off there, thinking the better of bringing up the subject of Marissa's father around Ryan. The blonde shrugged.  
  
"So they're gone for the day, huh," he echoed, but Seth's words had already done their damage, he was off and worrying about her again. He really had to stop that... didn't he?  
"That's what I said," Seth confirmed with a grin, "why, what did you have in mind?"  
"Nothing," Ryan said, which was for the most part true. He felt more tired than usual, and he hoped a day of rest might be in order. But he also felt like he should go check on Marissa, to make sure she was okay. He didn't know why he felt this responsibility to her; it was surely a new feeling for him. But it was there, like an itch in his mind.  
"You wanna hit the water?" Seth suggested, gesturing towards the garage door beyond which resided the skateboard and bike that would take them to the marina where Seth's sailboat waited. Ryan shrugged once again, and nodded as Seth began to indulge in his culinary creation. He stopped after two bites and stared at Ryan. "You're not eating," he informed him frankly. Ryan looked at the plate in front of him, then managed to grin back at Seth. He dug his fork into the Fromela... Fraconoastle... whatever. Maybe once he got some food in him he'd feel better. 


	2. Seasick?

An hour later, Ryan and Seth were untying the boat from the dock and running a few last safety checks before casting off. Ryan had yet to have another dizzy spell, and had attributed the morning's brief episodes to weariness from a night of unfulfilling sleep. In any case, he was glad to be free of the feelings and out in the fresh air, preparing for a trip out on the water. He enjoyed the ocean more than he let on to Seth or anybody else, but he felt at home with the sea, a luxury denied him back in Chino.  
Ryan untied the last rope and stepped onto the deck of the boat, while Seth began to pilot the boat away from the dock and out towards the open water. Ryan took a deep breath of salty air and sighed with contentment as he stretched out in a chair on deck and closed his eyes. He could feel the waves move beneath the boat, gently rocking him, convincing him that this was where he belonged. The last thing he saw was Seth standing proudly at the tiller as he dozed off.  
  
By the time he woke up twenty minutes later, any confidence Ryan had felt earlier about his infirmities started to quickly slip away. The spinning sensation he'd felt earlier was back, but this time it brought with it a wave of nausea that washed over him with not an enormous amount of force, but enough to make him swallow heavily and take a deep breath to calm his stomach. This was to no great avail, and he sighed in exasperation. Great. What was this? What powers that be were doing this to him? He finds somewhere he belongs, and it makes him seasick. Figures. Opening his eyes a second time, Ryan spotted Seth opposite him on the deck, reading a skateboarding magazine. The skateboarder looked up to see Ryan watching him, and grinned.  
"Hey. Wondered when you were gonna wake up. You gotta check out these waves, man! Unbelievable, we have GOT to get out surfing later." With this he put down the magazine and stood up to peer over the side of the boat at said waves.  
"I'm serious," he continued turning to face Ryan, "it's really cool lookin'. Come see!"  
Ryan shook his head with a forced grin. Waves. Not good. Not now. Damn, he felt sick...  
"Your loss," Seth shrugged, and went to sit back down in his chair, when Ryan interrupted him.  
"But, uh, I might take you up on that surfing offer," he informed Seth, making his voice sound as even as possible. Anything to get off the boat and on steady land. That had to be the cause, right? His comrade obviously bought it, because he stopped his descent with a smile and a 'say no more' look. Ryan inwardly sighed with relief as Seth set the magazine down and took the helm, directing the boat back towards the marina.  
After another grueling ten minute battle with his breakfast, Ryan was on the dock, securing the sailboat with a rope. And he was gonna puke. He hadn't thrown up many times in his life, but now that the feeling had surfaced, he recognized it, the telltale sensation building in his gut. There was a restroom just down the way, he could see it and needed to get there. But how best not to tip off Seth? Ryan glanced at the chef-turned- sailor; he was doing something with the fuel tank, hard to tell what, but as long as he was preoccupied. Ryan turned to leave.  
"Hey man, where ya goin?"  
Damn. Guess that fuel tank didn't have all of Seth's attention.  
"To the can," answered Ryan without stopping. He was relieved when his friend made no move to follow him or continue the conversation. He quickened his pace to the small door with the picture of the stick-man on it and slipped inside.  
Thankfully, the small room was empty. Ryan spied the nearest of three stalls and strode purposefully past the door, which he shut behind him. Out of habit, he latched it, then turned and leaned up against it. And waited.  
This was the worst part, he thought. When you know it's going to happen, but first is that feeling of weakness, like it's hard to stand... as carefully as he could, Ryan got to his knees in front of the toilet. He swallowed hard, twice, feebly hoping he might be able to keep it down. But in the second it took him to prepare a third, he felt sour bile rise in his throat, burning it. He gagged, a grlooping sound passing his lips, and threw up. He tried to be as quiet about it as possible as he emptied the contents of his stomach, as if afraid he'd be heard. He did NOT want to be heard. Or seen. He hated to vomit, but he hated even more to have people know about it. Because vomiting showed weakness. Ryan hated showing weakness. He paused to catch his breath, praying that the episode be over. His prayers went unanswered when a thick wave of nausea racked him and caused his stomach to rebel again. This time was worse, if that were possible, because he had already lost most of his breakfast, and he felt like he was running out of stuff to throw up. Which was worse, he pondered to himself, throwing up or not having anything to throw up? He found himself amused that he would be wondering such things at the moment, but in any case was relieved when he finally felt some of the tension release in his chest as the bout receded. He stopped heaving long enough to pant and rest his head against the cool porcelain rim. God, he was glad that was over. Maybe this was the worst part of puking, when your body shakes afterwards, he thought as he glanced at his trembling hands. Who cared, it was over with now. Using the door handle for support, Ryan slowly stood up. As he stood straighter, however, he felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his lower right abdomen. He couldn't stifle a yelp as he hunched back over, leaning against the side of the stall. What the hell was that? He again straightened up, and the pain was blessedly absent this time. And none too soon, for at that moment a familiar voice entered the bathroom. "Hey, Ryan, you in here?" called Seth. Deep breath. Make your voice sound normal. "Yeah, be right out," Ryan answered, kicking the lever to flush the toilet. "Hurry it up, man, we got a date with a killer surf set." Hearing the door to the bathroom swing shut, Ryan took his cue to open the door to the stall and step out. He was a bit shocked to see the reflection that stared back at him when he looked in the mirror. His features were pallid, and there was a thin film of sweat on his brow. With a sigh, Ryan turned on the faucet and cupped his hands to bring the cold water to his lips. It took five hand-fulls before he felt he had sufficiently rinsed out his mouth. This was followed by another three to splash on his face, which he then dried with two paper towels from a stack by the sink. As he dampened a third and pressed it to the back of his neck, Ryan studied his reflection in the mirror again. He still looked a little out of sorts, but not so much that he thought Seth would notice. As he reached to turn off the running water, he knocked the stack of paper towels off the edge of the sink. "Shit," Ryan muttered, and bent down to pick them up. When he finished and straightened up, he was again jabbed by a pain in his abdomen. It wasn't so harsh this time, but still an irritating and unwelcome pang that prodded a hiss as he set the paper towels on the counter and pressed a hand to the painful area. The feeling again passed, however, and he shook his head as he strode to the door, walked through it and started down the dock towards Seth. 


	3. Author's Note

Author's Note: Many thanks to the reviewers who responded... you guys are great, always good to hear word from the readers! Hope this next chapter keeps you intrigued enough that you'll return... in a week... : ( Sadly, I'm grounded from the computer for 7 grueling days in which I cannot update, very sorry! In any case, I hope you liked it; I know I went a little harsh on poor Ryan, but as the story unfolds, the symptoms will match the diagnosis... some of you medically inclined folks may recognize a little hint I slipped in there that last paragraph or two...  
  
PS: I need help with formatting my stories! Even though I start new paragraphs on Microsoft Word, they don't appear on Fanfiction.net! My quotes are out of place, my italics are gone, and it just looks sloppy. Please help, someone! How do I edit format on Fanfiction.net??  
  
~KTP  
  
"Ryan, you gotta check this out! I have totally annihilated all the other ninjas!" - Sandy Cohen, The O.C. 


	4. Seth Knows

Howdy all -  
  
Okay, first off, a BIG apology to those readers who've been waiting for THREE WEEKS *hangs head in shame* . It wasn't actually my fault entirely; see, on Sept. 9th, this computer techie guy was supposed to come to my house and install a DSL line in our computer. and frankly, he killed it. I mean literally, it couldn't start, it wasn't responding, it was just dead. Very sad. So, my dad had to box it up and ship it off to some company that rebuilt it, uninstalled, then reinstalled AOL, losing more than a wee few files along the way I might add. so I figured I'd be all clever and try to publish this next chapter from my school library, right? Nope, this site was blocked by our school's trusty safeguard system (the same system that blocks Fanfiction.net but allows you to look up the word F*ck at dictionary.com? Yup, that be the one, mates). So I JUST got my computer back yesterday and -- well, here I go rambling again. if any of you draw a benefit from listening to me rant, it will be this: DON'T trust ALLTEL. Savvy? Now, on to our story. I kinda changed POV for this one, even though it's still written 3rd person. kinda short, this chap, but I'm posting another 2nite. Again, sorry for the wait, and thanks for the reviews! Enjoy.  
  
Seth Knows  
  
Seth finished tying 'Summer Breeze' to the dock, his brow furrowed in thought. He thought he knew what he'd heard - no, he KNEW he knew what he'd heard on the other side of that door. Heard evidence of major yakking, that's what. But if Ryan was sick, why hadn't he said something? Maybe he was embarrassed? For what? They were brothers now, right? Maybe that was part of it, the fact that this was all so new for Ryan. He didn't want to show weakness right off the bat. Was that it? Seth took a moment to put himself in Ryan's shoes, and decided that must be it. But how should he approach it? SHOULD he approach it? How could he not? He already knew Ryan had been sick, and he was awful at lying. But on the other hand, why put Ryan on the spot with the topic when he was already feeling lousy? He probably just wanted to take it slow. Must've been why he was so anxious to get off the water, too. Seth mentally kicked himself for not seeing this before, and no sooner had he done so he saw the bathroom door swing open at the other end of the dock. Now what? Oh man oh man, what to say? 'Are you okay'? No. yes, no-yes, no, YES. no. Just be cool, he told himself, we're cool, we're good, we're fine, we're going. SURFING? Damn; in his recent revelation he had completely forgotten about their next stop, and didn't give a second thought to the fact that Ryan would not want to be hitting the waves right about now, no matter how mad the surf was. Here he comes. Think, Seth, think. Gotta get out of surfing somehow. Groceries? Nope, they were pretty well stocked. 'Have to clean the goldfish bowl'. don't have a goldfish. clean kitchen, weed garden, NO garden.  
"NINJAS," Seth exclaimed suddenly.  
Ryan, who was now about five feet from Seth, stared blankly at his companion, eyebrows raised.  
"Ninjas," he echoed, "what about 'em?"  
"Well, you know," continued Seth awkwardly, "I really was gonna tackle the next level of that. um, ninja game today. Besides, the waves aren't, um. THAT great."  
Ryan just stared at him.  
". Wanna just go home?" Seth sighed.  
Ryan didn't argue the point, just shrugged and mumbled something unintelligible as he grabbed his hoodie off the boat.  
"So, off we go then?" Seth said hesitantly, gesturing towards the parking lot.  
"Sure," answered Ryan, and started walking in said direction.  
Seth let out a mental sigh of relief as he followed his friend. Had he been convincing? He must have been, either that or Ryan knew he knew and was just being quiet about it. Seth slightly feared the latter, but now was no time to be paranoid. At the moment, as he watched Ryan's shaky steps, he was too busy worrying about the interior of the Land Rover. 


	5. Author's Note 2

Hey Gang -  
  
Okay, here's the scoop: I've decided not to continue this story - Not for the time being, at least. There are several reasons, the most prominent being that now that the teachers at school have "eased" us back into the school routine, they're cracking down hard on homework and projects that are taking up pretty much all of my time. That is, all of my time when I'm not working on my musical commitments, which come from another school and set of teachers altogether. So, basically, I can't juggle seven academic subjects, four different instruments, set design and construction for a drama co. AND keep up with homework. As much as I love to write creatively and for fun, it's not a luxury I can afford right now. I've actually been contemplating this ever since I posted Chapter 2, but felt like I had to continue writing because it was the only story like it on the board. However, that has recently changed. Lisa O'Brien has since written a story that has basically the same storyline as mine was to have, only hers is MUCH further along than mine. She does a great job of characterizing, and seems to be a more reliable poster. So, if you really want to know what happens, go ahead and check it out: "It's a Mom Thing," story I.D. 1539006. Kudos to Lisa; you did a better job than I was headed towards. Sorry about this.  
  
~Thinker2010 


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